


Head Trauma's Hardly a Substitute for Heart

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha!Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Atlas!Rhys - Freeform, Concussions, Hyperion!Jack, Injury Recovery, M/M, Omega!Rhys, rival CEOs au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Jack gets hurt at an event he and Rhys are both attending and, blissfully unaware of his own injuries, tries to press onwards.Rhys doesn't care about Jack's welfare—after all, if the Hyperion CEO takes himself out it'll save him the effort. He definitely won't bother helping him out with this problem.Right?





	Head Trauma's Hardly a Substitute for Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I love rival CEOs AU a whole lot and I just had to write more for a hurt/comfort prompt!

Honestly, Jack thought, it wasn’t an arms manufacturing convention if  _somebody_ didn’t get shot.

It’d happened during a makeshift finger-gun fight he himself had started to really rile up some of the other attendees. Most people were all too eager to hop on an opportunity to engage in one with Jack, and things had been going pretty smoothly up until the point some loser thought he’d be funny and actually lob something  _at_  him.

Or maybe the guy hadn’t really been  _aiming_  at him, there was no real way of knowing in the chaos, but one way or another Jack got a sailing boot to the face right before he was about to shoot a giddy exhibitor, execution-style.

As soon as his brain was done rattling in his skull, he’d shot the perpetrator in the chest, which had ended the finger-gun fight rather quickly, with Jack as the definitive winner. As usual.

Also typical was Rhys’ subsequent unhappiness with the carnage.

The Atlas CEO had, naturally, turned his nose up at such a cartoonish show of violence, and left Jack in the middle of chaos he’d caused, though Jack had caught the omega observing the gun-fight out of the corner of his eye as he tried busying himself in a booth exhibiting a couple experimental shields.

Rhys rolled his eyes when Jack finally jogged away from the mayhem, laughing as he holstered his pistol back on his hip.

“You’re such a  _brute_ , you know every event you go to doesn’t require you painting the floor red?” Rhys shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. They usually didn’t hang out together at these kind of events, but their penthouse suites had been booked on the same floor, and by some twist of coincidence they’d left their rooms at the same time this morning, cutting across the exhibit hall to attend to the first guest panel of the day.

“C’mon kiddo, how ‘bout you shut up and stop being a little prick. Here, I got something for ya.” Jack grinned as he brandished the very shoe he’d been clocked in the head with, still bloodied from the fight. “It’s kind of weird, like all the crap you wear…” He flicked the leather straps buckled on, looking at his reflection in the sparkly gold toes.

“Because I  _really_  want someone’s old, blood-soaked shoe…besides, I have  _two_  feet.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder to see the convention crew already zipping the corpse up into a nondescript bag.

“ _Ehh_ , too much effort. Not that I’m usually opposed to looting a corpse,” he quipped as they walked through the exhibits, most guests and professionals giving the blood-splattered CEO a wide berth.

“Whatever. Then I guess it’s going in my trophy case back home. It’s gonna fit  _riiiiight_  in.” Jack slung the boot playfully over his shoulder, nearly losing his balance with the momentum. He lilted to the side, accidentally rubbing his shoulder with Rhys’, who croaked in disgust.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk already….it’s barely noon.”

“Drunk?” Jack blinked his eyes rapidly, before smiling wider at Rhys. “Nah, not yet, sugar. Gonna need a couple hundred more drinks in me before I considering uncorking  _your_  uptight ass.”

“Oh, I’m waiting with baited  _breath_ ,” Rhys replied nastily, shrugging Jack’s shoulder away as he broke away from him, heels clicking audibly against the floor, even with the crowds around them. He didn’t turn back around for a good couple minutes, until his head tilted over his shoulder, noticing Jack’s slower gait.

“Will you hurry? We’re going to be late for the panel on Harnessing Joint-Elemental Cells. This is going to be a big deal if you hope to show Maliwan you’re actual competition.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming….heh…when was the last time you cared about how Hyperion was doing, sweetheart?”

“I  _don’t_ ,” Rhys grumbled, sourly, though he slowed his pace, waiting for Jack to catch up. “But it’ll be a lot less fun showing you up if you stumble right out of the gate.”

* * *

Jack usually sleep-walked through these panels, giving the requisite answers and only really getting into it if he could mess with the presenter or if the audience asked him a question directly. However, today he felt even  _more_  out of it than usual, barely able to pay attention even when something interesting  _was_  being said, or when Rhys decided to try and help him focus by  _helpfully_  coughing or nudging the alpha in the side. Honestly, he was relieved when the whole thing was over, though even he couldn’t refuse the post-panel interview.

“Jack…are you okay?” Rhys pulled him aside after he’d finally stumbled away from the cameras, having successfully slurred his way through the questions. He snorted, airily waving Rhys off.

“Yeah? I feel  _great_. Super glad to be out of that chair.” He grunted, shaking his head to try to clear away the weird mental fog. “They better spring for frikkin’  _cushions_  next year, or I’m bringing my own.”

“Are you sure…? You don’t like…feel weird or anything?”

Jack frowned, raising his eyebrow.

“What are you, my doctor? I mean, if you wanted to stick a thermometer up my butt, kiddo, you just had to—”

“Ugh. Never mind.” Rhys cut him off, rolling his eyes as he sharply turned away from Jack.

After that, they finally split ways, with Rhys going to the Atlas industry-panel while Jack ambled over to the autograph signings. He pushed aside his fuzziness and nausea, waving it off as a lingering symptom of last night’s partying or something he’d picked up from the mouth of one of those Torgue booth omegas that couldn’t get enough of him. They’d probably been gunning to switch over with a sweet Hyperion gig, and Jack had been almost considering calling the numbers he’d found written on his arm, but if they’d given him some kind of space flu then they could forget it.

His signatures grew more and more sloppy, along with his responses to enthusiastic fan questions, but finally he made it through to the end. Jack downed a liter of water and a bag of pretzels offered to him after he finished, wondering if he was dehydrated or suffering through low blood sugar. The food and drink were decent enough distractions, but did little to properly clear his head or stave off the nausea.

Maybe a proper dinner would do the trick.

The CEO’s Banquet always offered the cream of the crop when it came to cuisine, with convention staff pulling out all the stops and inviting the best chefs armed with the best ingredients to curry the favor of the most powerful men and women in the entire universe.

Through amusing coincidence, he and Rhys found themselves seated next to each other, though Jack’s dampened mood made it less of a thrill then it could have been. Rhys almost acted like his missed it, actually, as he occasionally looked back at Jack mid-conversation with Vladof, as if he expected him to interject with a joke about Rhys’ assets.

Even though Jack’s food smelled great when it came, he still picked at it, pushing his steak and vegetables around his plate as he tried to drum up a proper appetite. He managed a couple bites and sips of his wine nevertheless, though the half-full plate of food taunted him as he stared glumly down at it, wonder what was wrong with him.

Jack wasn’t feeling much better by the time dessert came around, and though it looked  _incredible_ —a spherical, bright blue cheesecake topped with a fluffy, fruity-smelling curd—his stomach twisted and he ended up sliding the plate over to Rhys who was already halfway done with his. He thought he heard Rhys’ say something to him, but the throbbing in his ears was starting to get unbearable.

Irritated, Jack left the banquet early—not caring what the rest of the CEOs thought about it— hoping to hit up one of the many hotel bars to chase a better buzz, but he found himself forgetting exactly where any of them were located. He growled at himself, getting increasingly more annoyed as he wracked his brain, stumping through the hall away from the ballroom.  

“Jack! Hold on!” A voice cut through the alpha’s ringing brain just as he’d stopped to try to stave off the sudden dizziness. Jack turned around a little too quickly, swaying on his feet as he nearly lost his balance. He caught himself, hand bracing against the wall as he narrowed his eyes at Rhys.

“Pumpkin, I gotta tell ya,  _reaaaally_  not in the mood for your sass at the moment.” Jack winced and furrowed his brows, trying to deal with the throbbing pressure point just between his eyes. Through his swimming vision, he could see Rhys take a couple more steps towards him, hand reaching out, face frowning in—was that  _concern_?

Jack’s anger snarled at the look.

“Listen, you’ve been really weird all day, and I’m just…it’s not  _normal_  okay?” Rhys’ cybernetic hand reached out, settling on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re in no condition to be walking around. Let me take you to your room.”

Jack growled—usually he’d be receptive to Rhys touching him, but right now his irritation was through the roof, and he just wanted to shove him off and get some damn time  _away_.

“I can  _walk_  perfectly fine on my own, thank you very…. _much_ …” Jack mustered, even as his vision suddenly grew spotty, his head spinning even worse. He gritted his teeth, yanking against Rhys’ grip as he tried to turn around—only for the swirly brown and beige carpeting to suddenly rush up to meet him, right before his exhausted brain finally blacked out.

* * *

The first sense to return to Jack was, predictably enough, smell.

The scent of vanilla and mahogany wafted in through his nostrils as he slowly stirred, brain waking back up. It helped numb the twinge in his temples, and soothe his confusion over where the hell he was and what the hell had happened. A small groan flitted between his lips as his limbs twitched underneath something warm and weighty, struggling to wake up the rest of his body.

Exhaustion pulled at Jack, trying to drag him back to sleep, when the sudden touch of a cool cloth on his forehead had him jolting properly awake, eyes flying open.

“ _Crap_ ,” he croaked as the sudden light stabbed into his pupils, forcing his eyes to flutter uncomfortably. He gritted his teeth, moaning as he stretched his legs out underneath what he finally figured out was a thick hotel-bed comforter.

“Easy…” A low voice spoke, the cool cloth on his forehead moving. Jack breathed deeply, eventually forcing his eyes back open, albeit at half-mast.

The fuzzy shadow masking part of the light above slowly coalesced into definable features, and soon enough Jack realized it was Rhys hovering over him, features creased in concern.

He tried to wrack his brain and remember what could have possibly happened put him in this position, but his head twinged in protest and he gave up, settling for getting the answer straight from the horse’s mouth.

“What…what happened to me…?” He hated the rough weakness in his own voice, but couldn’t muster much more. Thankfully, Rhys didn’t comment on it, as he adjusted the pillow underneath Jack’s head.

“You have a concussion.” He stated firmly, moving on to pull the hem of the comforter further up Jack’s body. “The dizziness, fainting, nausea, it all checks out. I  _knew_  something was wrong.”

“C…concussion? For crying out loud…” Jack moaned. Seriously? Where the hell could he have gotten a concussion?

“If I had to guess, it probably happened thanks to that boot to the head,” Rhys answered, as if he could read Jack’s battered mind. “It didn’t seem like much at first, but I checked the heel on that thing, and it’s pretty hard. Might even be made of metal. Looking back I’m shocked you didn’t need stitches.”

The bed beneath Jack shifted as Rhys got up. The alpha heard the sound of the faucet turning on and off, and before he knew it the cool rim of a water glass pressed to his lips.

“I’ve checked your pupil size already,” Rhys continued as Jack drank gratefully of the cup, “and with a layman’s understanding of neurology, I  _think_  I can say you don’t have serious brain damage. Though if you don’t trust me you can get properly checked out yourself.”

It probably wouldn’t hurt to get examined by one of the hotel doctors, but at the moment Jack just wanted to keep on laying down and resting in—wherever he was. He squinted as he finished the water, turning his head to glance around the room.

“Is….did you take me back to my room?”

“Not quite. I wanted to get you lying down as soon as possible and, well….my room was a couple doors closer.” Rhys sat back down against the bed, and as Jack’s brain cleared he could better see the details that differentiated his own suite from Rhys’. Not only were the wallpaper and portraits difference—eggshell blue and oceanic landscapes, as opposed to Jack’s canary yellow and pictures of exotic birds—but as he turned his head to the side, he could see another bed across from the one he’d been tucked into, its covers and pillows still made-up and pristine.

“You…you expecting company, sugar?”

“They gave me a double instead of the single I requested. No big deal, though. And in hindsight it was lucky, since half the beds have been turned into the medical ward.”

“ _Ugh_ …” Jack moaned, shakily lifting his hand to touch his temple. “Can’t believe I got…laid low by a frikkin’  _shoe_ …”

“Wouldn’t have thought so either, considering how thick of a skull you have…don’t worry though, your dignity is still intact. I told everyone who saw me carrying you here that you’d just gotten black-out drunk at the bar.”

“You…you carried me? But you weight like…” Jack mimed scales with his hands. “Like… _nothing_.”

Rhys huffed.

“I’m not as heavy or muscular as you are, maybe, but I  _do_  have a cybernetic arm grafted onto my body. That helps with the heavy-lifting.”

“Oh.” Jack’s eyes fell to the golden claws cradling the glass of water. “Guess you’re right.”

“All this stuff isn’t just for show. I mean, I’ve been keeping my eye,” he tapped above his golden ECHO implant, “on you all day ever since you got clocked in the head.”

“Jeez….talk about an invasion of privacy.”

Rhys snorted.

“Yeah, okay, and if I hadn’t been around, you might have fallen and knocked your mild concussion all the way up to traumatic brain injury, so thank you, Rhys, very much for preventing me from killing myself like an idiot.”

Jack grumbled an apology that Rhys must have considered good enough, because he moved to refill Jack’s water cup, returning with two little white pills in his other palm.

“Here. You should be able to take a light painkiller to help with the headache. Hard to sleep when your head is killing you after all.”

Jack gave a pitiful whine and slowly moved his hand, before Rhys sighed and popped the pills between his lips, washing it down with a quick tilt of the water glass.

“Don’t you start milking this….once you’re feeling good enough to walk, I’m taking you back to  _your_  room. No getting used to it.”

A smarmy little grin grew over Jack’s cheeks at Rhys’ weak threat.

“Not so sure about that, sweetheart…If I’m not mistaken….I would say you were being weirdly  _tender_.”

“Shut up,” Rhys murmured softly, little bite behind his tongue. “You’re concussed. No one would believe anything you said.”

Jack kept on smirking, even as he rested, letting the painkillers work their magic on his sore head. He half expected Rhys to get up, maybe attend to some Atlas or convention business he’d been neglecting to care for Jack, but he stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, occasionally adjusting Jack’s blankets or changing the water for his head cloth.

Jack was inching back towards sleep, when Rhys suddenly spoke up, cybernetic hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Off the record…I’m glad you’re okay. Idiot.” Rhys chuckled softly. “Believe me, this whole manufacturing biz would be a lot less fun if you weren’t around.”

Jack’s eyelids fluttered, fuzzily looking up to the other CEO leaning over him.

“I’m so…. _touched_ …”

“Yeah, well. Don’t get a swelled head.”

“Hah. Yeah, I think I’m almost halfway there, pumpkin.” He lightly tapped his temple, before curling his arms back underneath the blanket. Fatigue pulled harder at his eyelids, urging him to rest properly in the bed that smelled of comforting vanilla and omega scent so his body could properly heal.

Jack thought he felt something warm touch his cheek as he fell back asleep but hey, what did he know? He had a  _concussion_ , after all.  


End file.
